As we continue to plan our development and release strategy for “Inside-Out, Outside-In,” we are struggling to come to terms with our relationship to the eventual audience of the film. It doesn’t take much reflection to come to the realization that 20th century definitions of the word “audience” no longer apply. So, I’d like filmmakers to consider how greatly things have changed in terms of the audience’s consumption of media and then build your film in accordance with new realities (or at least in awareness of them).

First of all, in 2017, practically every human being in the United States under the age of 50 is a content creator and a content curator, because of social media. In days gone by, people identified with their profession – maybe they were a bricklayer or teacher or doctor or cop – and to a great degree, left art to the artists. They certainly – for the most part – didn’t conceive of themselves as part-artist (perhaps some of them did, who had a painting hobby or the like). But now, almost everyone in America is part-artist. They are part-actor-photographer with the selfies they share on Instagram and part-writer with their Facebook posts. They are part-curator with what they choose to retweet on Twitter and part-filmmaker on Snapchat. And building followings in these various platforms affords status in a similar way that authors used to receive from being on a best-seller list or winning a prestigious literary award. Perhaps it’s a cruder version of that sort of status, but on some level, achieving a higher status and more cultural influence is achieving a higher status and more cultural influence. And now, what anyone expresses may legitimately, in terms that data can measure, accrue status. In 1950, artists and filmmakers and fashion designers might affect how the culture perceived this or that issue or trend. (Think of the style influence of Audrey Hepburn). But now, social media “winning” could easily strike a bricklayer with an iPhone (I have MANY friends who would follow a hot shirtless bricklayer on Instagram), who could accidentally launch a new catchphrase or look. We’re all actors now.

In one way, this is great. Why shouldn’t everyday people have a shot at influencing their own culture through what they express? Why should only elite-level artists have this potential to influence others culturally? Maybe, in the past, artists have abused the privilege and overestimated their insight and observations of life compared to non-artists. So perhaps, the scales are evening up…and for the first time.

Some artists have responded to the democratization of cultural influence by trying to make their work less accessible to the common man. This impulse for abstraction grants the artist the ability to retain feelings of superiority and greater economic power from his creations. Accessibility is all too easy to interpret as the “part-artist” energy of the prosumer, so artists work double time to make their work abstract and intellectual, sometimes for the sake of vanity rather than purity of purpose. After all, if everybody’s expressions are equally valuable, artists would have an extraordinarily difficult time getting paid (which is already happening, of course). Then, there are other artists who pander to the masses even more, by making their content shorter or more shareable, more focused on viral potentiality. This is just base greed, a desire to brazenly profit off a new set-up before bothering to understand the implications of technological change or the purpose of artistic ventures in the first place.

So what is a conscientious artist to do? Some well-meaning artists try to deny the changing landscape and hold onto the past. But this seems foolish – times they are a’changing and denial/obstinance serves no one. Others become so overwhelmed that they retreat from the landscape altogether but this seems like, well, weakness. As artists, we must meet the challenges of our time and, hopefully, provide some insight for others to do the same.

So, knowing all that, I think the best model for the future is thinking of the audience as fellow artists and to see your project as a mission to create something together. This is especially true during the phase of the project when your film touches the audience directly. Their reaction should be incorporated as part of the story of the work itself. We no longer live in a world where people sit in a darkened theatre, let the film soak into them and leave, a grateful and changed audience. So why pretend we do, even if that sort of arrangement used to grant incredible status to the film’s creators? Now, your audience is making the experience with you – and deserves much of the credit, too. Yes, your feature film is the most intense part of the experience created, but it is no longer the only show in town, even in terms of the experience of said feature film.

How do we successfully co-create something with the audience? This is where creativity and ingenuity come into play. For my current film, Guys Reading Poems, we’ve created a series of open mic poetry readings in Los Angeles as a way for our audience to express their own poetry, not just watch the selections we included in the film. And sometimes, we find gems that are superior to what we make ourselves, such as the poem “Millennium” by Elena Secota. So we then double back and use our growing audience to turn a spotlight onto Ms. Secota, a fellow co-creator of the “Guys Reading Poems” experience. This provides a positive feedback loop that truly serves both our film and the community – as equals.

So what’s our co-creating strategy for “Inside-Out, Outside-In”? To be honest, I don’t know yet. They call it brainstorming because it feels like a raging thunder crossing back and forth in your head. But eventually – and hopefully soon – we’ll land on a good idea. And then, you can be part of the film…and share in its accomplishments.

In the meantime, I offer you “Millennium” by Elena Secota.

—

Hunter Lee Hughes is a filmmaker and actor living and working in Los Angeles and the founder of Fatelink. His current feature film Guys Reading Poems is touring film festivals and this blog is dedicated to the process of making his second feature film, “Inside-Out, Outside-In.” If you enjoy the blog, please support our team by following us on Facebook, Twitter (@Fatelink) or Instagram (@Fatelink).

I’m going to admit one of my biggest sources of frustration as an artist: the balance between creating work and promoting it.

Some artists appear to only care about creating work and delegate all responsibilities of promoting themselves and their work to others (agents, managers, publicists, publishers, distributors, etc). And I really envy those artists, even if I’m sure it’s an illusion that they are free from the responsibilities of promoting their work. After all, even if you delegate to a publicist, you still have to pay the publicist.

Nonetheless, very established artists do seem more free from the idea of having to “sell yourself” to get through the door. Which – in my mind – frees up their energy to focus even more on creative pursuits, sharpening their skills as artists. On the other hand, the unestablished artist must spend a fair amount of time on promotion, taking away valuable time for creating and enhancing your work. Most unestablished artists can’t afford to hire someone to shoulder these responsibilities, either. And the work is all the more difficult because promoting a known quantity is far easier than promoting a new artist, even for a skilled publicist. So the promotional aspect is not only more for the unestablished artist in terms of doing the work herself, it’s also more challenging work with fewer results. It’s easy to feel both overworked and perpetually behind. In my case, fears abound that I’ll never catch up to my more established counterparts. The flip side of that fear is the scary notion that I might be a phony for spending too much time promoting work at the expense of investing time and resources into creating better work. And the fear underlying both is the ole, “Well, perhaps they are just better artists than you are and that’s why success comes easy to them.”

So…what to do?

I’ve asked myself this question a lot and the answer seems to be the very unmagical response of, “Keep creating work and keep promoting said work to the best of your ability.”

Sometimes, I add to that, “Shame for not having financial success as an artist is not productive or even an indicator of long-term success.” Many artists who were popular in their time are now long-forgotten Emperors in New Clothes. And many unheralded artists rose significantly in their fields well into their old age or even after death. This knowledge is difficult, but freeing and brings up a challenging but pertinent silver lining. When you feel badly about yourself for not being as established as you want to be, remember the strategic benefits of your position as well. The unestablished artist may have more work and harder work to do, but at least he is free in a different way, free from the hubris that seems a byproduct of conventional success. Hubris can blind one to the truth of oneself and the culture at large. Conventional success almost certainly is isolating while struggle forces a confrontation with the self and others.

I don’t think it’s prudent for unestablished artists not to use social media and conventional networking to forward their career. I sometimes feel that more established artists are looking down on me for doing so, but I really try not to care anymore. I was recently told by a well-established sales agent that my art film could secure a meeting with a major distributor if I could prove we have 100,000 social media followers regularly tuned in. It may not be my favorite to build up those kinds of numbers, but if it helps me make the films I love and return capital to the brave investors who believe in them, I’ll build that online audience. And if somebody important at some prestigious institution snickers at me for it, oh well. Building a social media following is just too important to ignore, even if it’s out of my comfort zone.

That being said, at the end of the day, as artists, we must be willing to sacrifice self-promotion for the sake of the work. Just this past month, I missed almost all my self-imposed deadlines for writing blog posts right here at insideoutthefilm.com. That’s because I’ve been rewriting the film. And I had to prioritize that. I just didn’t have the energy for both and I had to choose. Rightly, I chose “the work” not promoting the work. Now, I’m shotlisting. I shotlist at least one scene every day, come hell or high water. If it’s between shotlisting and a tweet, I choose the shotlist. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have a presence on Twitter and Instagram and work on building that up, too.

If anyone has ideas on this subject or practical suggestions for how artists can manage the balance between selling and creative work, please leave your comments below.

—

Hunter Lee Hughes is a filmmaker and actor living and working in Los Angeles and the founder of Fatelink. His current feature film Guys Reading Poems is touring film festivals and this blog is dedicated to the process of making his second feature film, “Inside-Out, Outside-In.” If you enjoy the blog, please support our team by following us on Facebook, Twitter (@Fatelink) or Instagram (@Fatelink).